"Ugh." I groaned for the seven hundred and eleventh time today.
I hate Fridays. Look at me, being all different—is that what you think? Then you'd be wrong. I have good reason to hate Fridays. I'll have you know that Fridays are Mondays in disguise in my workplace. Heck, Mondays are better, only by a millimeter, but my point still stands.
To prove my point, my boss was currently yelling about how we had to round up quickly so we could celebrate. We had a mountain of work that would need two days to complete, but he wanted it done in a night so we could toast to some huge win the office had. That would never happen on a Monday. I rest my case.
"Lainey," I heard my boss say in an Australian accent. Normally it's British, but by noon, he gets confused and just shuffles between Australian and Irish. It's super weird, especially considering the man has never stepped foot outside New York.
"Nope," I said in a flat voice.
"You didn't even wait for me to say what I wanted," he said in a semi-playful way.
"I didn't need to." I squinted at my monitor and pushed in some functions. I knew Mr. Patton only called me 'Lainey' when he needed a favor, and favors with this man were just one step away from being a sacrifice on the cross of Calvary.
"I tell you, it's no biggie, just listen to me," he pleaded. "The Director wants a performance attribution report by 4:30 PM."
I raised an eyebrow in confusion. "Our 4:30 PM or his?"
Mr. Patton looked at me like I had just said the earth was a circle propped on a turtle's shell. I get that my question might not seem high IQ, but you can't blame me—it was 7:00 PM here in New York. Can't a girl be hopeful?
I sighed. "So... his 4:30?"
He nodded cheerily. "I'm so sorry. It's only because it's urgent and you're the most efficient person I've known in my entire life." He was back to a British accent now.
I was still skeptical. Blame it on Friday's vibes, but I was feeling extra lazy and not in the mood for overtime.
"Look, I'll pay you back. How about an extra something on your bonus? You already have a huge share because of the role you played in this trade, but how does half of my share feel as an addition?"
It wasn't like "Friday vibes" were going to buy me my Malibu mansion. "I'll get started right away."
Patton chuckled, leaving the table for somewhere else. "I knew I could count on you."
Just as I was about to get to work and earn my extra bonus (it sounds like a tautology, but it's not), my phone rang. I don't normally pick up calls at work because I tend to hyper-fixate, but the number on the screen caught my attention. It was a Finnish number. Only one person could be calling me from there: my grandmother.
I picked up the call, because check-ins from Grandma were like vampires or werewolves—fantastical, but you never actually see them in real life.
"Hello?"
"Is this Elaine Ridley?" The voice on the other end asked.
"Yes. Who's this?"
"You are listed as Madeleine Ridley's next of kin."
As the lady said those words, my heart dropped so far it reached the floor below me. I understood exactly what this call meant.
"Madeleine Ridley is my grandmother," I supplied with dry lips and jittery hands.
"I'm sorry, Miss Ridley. Your grandmother is dead."